


I'm the Violence in the Pouring Rain

by weirdfastballs



Category: Warchild Series - Karin Lowachee
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, Canonical Character Death, Disfigurement, Gen, Gore, Stabbing, Torture porn oops, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5535203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdfastballs/pseuds/weirdfastballs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I know how to end this fast and efficiently.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Falcone will not be getting out of this so easily.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jos takes his time dealing with Falcone</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm the Violence in the Pouring Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theseoldbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseoldbones/gifts).



> For my lovely friend Kate for our Warchild Universe Secret Santa Exchange! I filled the prompt of having Falcone's death scene to be about fifty times longer to enjoy more of his suffering. I hope you enjoy it!

Falcone crumples to the ground. The knife is sticking out of his chest, the wound is far from fatal. I know how to end this fast and efficiently. Falcone will not be getting out of this so easily.

I draw another blade from my forearm sheath. Falcone is moving one of his arms towards his wound, but time stands still for me. He doesn’t have time to react to my boot kicking his arm back and stomping hard on his bicep. Falcone barely has time to see my second blade go through his hand, effortlessly cutting through muscles and tendons. I remove my foot from his shoulder, knowing that it wasn’t quite hard enough to be broken or dislocated. He breaks eye contact briefly with me to stare at his twitching hand in bewilderment.

I resist the urge to punch his face again. I don’t want his senses to be dulled, not yet. He doesn’t deserve to look human anymore. That knowing look he had shown earlier, the confidence that he’ll get away with everything he’s done flashes through my mind. I kick as hard as I can into his ribs, over and over. Pained gasps through grit teeth turn to wheezing and his eyes fill with desperation as he looks at me. If he can still try to make eye contact, he isn’t suffering enough. He hears the definite sound of ribs cracking and Falcone instinctively tries to reach for them with his bloodied hand, knife still embedded in it. It’s easy to pull the bloody knife out and jab it through his shoulder. The blade and hilt have become slick, but the handle allows me to keep my grip and twist it deeply through the muscles.

The initial blade that brought him down is still in his chest, but it’s time to put it to a better task. I pull it out in one quick motion. Falcone gasps and wheezes and I’m only slightly worried I may have nicked a lung after all. This time I hold his gaze as I step back and throw the knife into his thigh above his knee cap before repeating the process to the other one. His entire face is filled with pain and desperation and he wheezes harder.

The white wrappings on my arms have become crimson, but it does not distract me from my next target. I kick his legs apart and step between them. Falcone doesn’t register what I am doing until it is too late. The knife sinks easily through the fabric of his pants. I alternate using a slicing and sawing motion, punctuated with quick stabs. Blood is flowing through the sliced fabric and forming a decent sized pool where Falcone’s dick used to be. There’s blood on my boots and I step over his body towards his face so I can really look at the pain in his eyes. I'm not disappointed by what I see.

I know my time must be running out soon. As much as I want and need to draw this out, I know it’s almost over. Everything I’ve done isn’t fatal enough; Falcone is still conscious even if his gaze seems out of focus. That will be fixed shortly.

He tries to stare at me and manages to say through gritted teeth, “Joslyn.” Before he can continue, I slam the knife through his cheek. It stops only when it scrapes into his teeth. His eyes widen and I pull the blade out to stab the other side for good measure. The knife went in further than I expected, slicing into his tongue and gums. I refuse to hear his voice ever again. Falcone is trying to open his mouth, red rolls down his cheeks and between his lips. He makes a disgusting watery noise. Before he can try again, I stab his jugular.

I watch the pain and desperation fade from his eyes as he gets paler and paler, contrasted against the dark pools forming around him. Falcone seemed surprised in the end. I think he knew what might happen, but he didn’t expect I would get away with it. Right now I can’t think of the consequences, I just need to experience this moment. I feel something, but I can’t quite place it. I’m free, maybe even content. I enjoy the silence of space before time continues moving forward.


End file.
